


Spinning

by Singofsolace



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Pre-Canon, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singofsolace/pseuds/Singofsolace
Summary: Zelda falls ill. Hilda cares for her. And Lilith? Well... Lilith weaves a spell.
Relationships: Hilda Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 26
Kudos: 48





	Spinning

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place 17 years before canon. Edward Spellman is the High Priest of the Church of Night, and Zelda is currently Professor of Ancient Tongues and Sacred Scriptures at the Academy, as well as the Directrix of the Satanic Choir.
> 
> Disclaimer: While it seems a bit silly to credit Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa as the owner of these characters and this universe, considering he himself stole/borrowed/recreated them, let's give it a go. I do not own these characters, nor the universe in which they live. They belong to Archie Comics, which sent Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa himself a cease and desist for his blatant fanfic-turned-play, "Archie's Weird Fantasy," not too long ago. Please do not sue me; I am an unemployed adjunct professor writing fanfiction purely for entertainment purposes. I have very little money, but a whole lot of love for complicated female characters. While I do not wish to be sued, I would very much enjoy being given a position as show-runner for writing some great fanfic. I eagerly await your email.

It all started with a tickle in the back of Zelda’s throat. She noticed it around noon, after she’d holed herself up in her office during a free period to grade the advanced students’ frankly _abysmal_ Sacred Scripture essays. Honestly, did any of them even _read_ the excerpt from the Babylonian Talmud she’d assigned…? Just because it wasn’t the Satanic Bible didn’t mean it wasn’t a fundamental scripture they ought to know how to interpret for themselves.

As she worked, the sensation in her throat went from a tickle to a lump of pain that made swallowing difficult. Zelda kept trying to clear her throat, hoping that if she did it enough times the uncomfortable feeling would simply disappear.

Her body felt heavy as she picked up her quill to correct a student’s sloppy translation mistake. Zelda usually prided herself on how light she was on her feet from all of those years of dancing barefoot through the woods as a child, but now she felt like even standing up to retrieve a glass of water was too arduous a task.

Swallowing thickly, Zelda put a hand to her tender throat. Satan in hell, how was she going to direct the choir like this…? Her dulcet mezzo-soprano would instead be reminiscent of the croak of Shirley Jackson’s felonious familiar if she tried to sing.

The pain wasn’t serious—it was more of an annoyance than anything else—but there was no denying it was highly inconvenient. Zelda put down her papers to conjure a cup of tea with honey, hoping she could combine the natural remedy with a wellness charm, and that would be the end of it.

Against all evidence, Zelda hoped that she was just hoarse from shouting. She’d lost her temper earlier that morning, frustrated with her students’ complete lack of attention during her lesson. Lupercalia was fast approaching; the young witches and warlocks were brimming with an uncontainable lust for one another. What young witch or warlock could hope to focus with such potent erotic energy electrifying the air?

Zelda understood, of course, the intense desire for carnality around this time of year, but she’d never neglected her studies as openly as these children were doing—and to her face, no less! She’d had to smack her cane against the desk no less than three times to get their attention, and even then, the energy of the room remained far too lusty to be at all productive. She really ought to have reported them all to the Headmaster, though her brother, Edward, was notoriously lax when it came to disciplining students—specifically, warlocks—for what he considered “natural” behavior.

Zelda could still hear her voice bouncing off the walls once she’d had enough of their snickering and whispers:

_“Dismissed. Out, all of you. Now! I said: Dismissed!”_

She was now regretting her outburst, if only because no amount of honey seemed to be soothing the strain she’d put on her throat. She’d have to devise a more effective way of controlling them.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on her office door.

“Enter,” Zelda said, though the word seemed to scrape its way up the back of her throat.

“Sister,” said Edward, entering like a thunder cloud fit to strike.

Zelda just looked at him over her cup as she took a large sip of her tea, longing for something stronger than honey to add to it.

He leaned over her desk, face red. “Why did my Top Boy just inform me that you dismissed Sacred Scripture twenty minutes early?!”

Zelda lifted an eyebrow, setting down her teacup with great care.

“Did your Top Boy also mention that his eyes were fixed on my legs and derriere for the whole lesson? That he was passing a lewd drawing of me around to his chums while I was trying to keep a room full of distracted youths on task?”

Edward’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “You’re changing the subject.”

“I dismissed the class early because there was not a single witch or warlock paying attention. Lupercalia can’t come quickly enough—they need an outlet for all of this energy,” said Zelda, though by the time she got to the word “energy,” she felt the need to clear her throat once more, despite knowing it would do nothing to help the pain.

Edward tilted his head. “Are you sick, sister?”

“How dare you?” said Zelda, returning to her grading. “I’ve never been sick a day in my life.”

Edward, not to be distracted from his terrible mood, scoffed. “Scarlet fever, 1895. Spanish influenza, 1918. Walking pneumonia, 1941—”

“All right, all right—you’ve made your point,” said Zelda, massaging her throat.

“Your afternoon lessons are cancelled. Go home,” said Edward, turning on his heel. His High Priest robes billowed behind him as he stalked to the door.

“You can’t just cancel—”

“I can and I did. Go home to the mortuary. Hilda will look after you,” said Edward, glaring back at her as he opened the door.

“I’m not some child you can order about!” said Zelda, pushing herself up from her desk to continue the argument, but this was a mistake; she immediately felt light-headed, and had to clutch the edge of the desk to keep from falling.

Without warning, Edward waved his hand to transfer her away. Zelda reappeared in the Spellman kitchen, far too close to the table, and slammed her hip against it as she tried in vain to regain her balance.

“Zelds?!” Hilda cried, turning away from the stove, where she’d just put in a loaf of bread. “You nearly stopped my heart, you did!”

But Hilda’s voice immediately changed as she saw Zelda lean all of her weight on the kitchen table, as if she were about to collapse.

“Are you ill? Is it your blood pressure, love?”

Zelda gritted her teeth, shaking her head. “I swear I’ll kill him one day. He can’t just transfer me wherever and whenever he likes! It’s _my_ body.”

Hilda came to rub a soothing hand over Zelda’s lower back. “You sound like you’ve got a bit of a cold there, Zelds.”

“Nonsense,” said Zelda haughtily, though the hoarseness of her voice ruined the intended effect.

“Let’s tuck you into bed, and I’ll bring you a nice hot toddy to have you right as rain in no time,” said Hilda, ushering Zelda out of the kitchen.

Now that she was resigned to her fate, Zelda couldn’t deny that a hot toddy sounded perfect. “With extra whiskey?”

“With extra _honey_ ,” Hilda amended gently, her voice fond.

* * *

Hilda had her out of her school clothes, into her nightgown, and tucked into bed in record timing. Finally giving herself permission to show how wretched she was feeling, Zelda coughed and coughed until Hilda pressed her shoulders back into her pillows.

“Hildie?” said Zelda, reaching to take Hilda’s hand to keep her from leaving her side just yet.

“Yes, love?” said Hilda, unable to hide her surprise at being addressed so warmly.

“I know I don’t always… I don’t always show it, but I’m glad you’re back from London. I… I…” Zelda swallowed, the pain in her throat making it even harder to get the words out, “I missed you.”

Hilda’s face lit up, her smile brighter than Zelda had seen it since she’d returned to the mortuary with cousin Ambrose in tow. “Oh, Zelds. I know how you are. You don’t fool me with all of your bluster and carrying on—I know what’s beneath it.”

Hilda squeezed her hand before moving towards the door. Zelda pulled the covers up, suddenly beset with chills. Seeing this, Hilda paused on her way out. “I’ll have you that hot toddy in no time, love.”

“Thank you, Hilda.”

There was a long pause before Hilda added, “Coming back here, it almost seems like... like I never left at all, and I just want to let you know that I love you. A lot. Never forget that.”

Hilda didn’t wait to see Zelda’s response, but rather rushed out of the room the moment she was done talking. Zelda, for her part, was too shocked to react. Pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, Zelda pressed the side of her face into a pillow, hoping to hide the single stray tear that leaked from the corner of her eye.

* * *

Zelda slept fitfully, despite Hilda having almost certainly spiked her hot toddy with a sleeping draft. It was nearing three o’clock in the morning when she awoke with a jolt, aware that there was someone else—someone who was absolutely _not_ Hilda—sitting on the edge of her bed.

“The Talmud doesn’t tell the whole story,” said the strange figure, thumbing through Zelda’s copy of the religious text. “If you’re going to teach them this version of my story, you might as well get it right.”

Zelda scrambled to sit up, looking over at Hilda’s bed for confirmation that she wasn’t still dreaming. Hilda was fast asleep, snoring fit to wake the dead.

“I’ve put a glamour spell around us. Even if she did wake, she wouldn’t see me,” said the strange woman, a knowing glint in her eye.

“Who are you?” Zelda said, her voice hoarse from sickness and lack of use. “What are you doing here?”

“You know who I am,” said the woman, her voice almost a purr as she leaned closer, placing a hand on Zelda’s leg over the blanket. Zelda’s pulse raced. Her chest heaved.

_It couldn’t be… could it?_

The woman had long dark hair that fell in waves all the way down to her waist. She looked young—but at the same time, her energy radiated ancient magic. Her voice was ethereal, her brown eyes luminous despite the darkness of the room. Her expression was cocky, and yet, there was an edge of madness to it—the kind of look you’d see in a witch’s face before she set an entire village ablaze just to see the pretty shapes the smoke made.

Slowly, the woman leaned over Zelda to place the Talmud down on her nightstand. She invaded her space with the air of a cat toying with its prey before eating it. Zelda couldn’t breathe for fear of breaking whatever magic was sparking up between them.

The dark-haired woman was practically on top of her as she whispered in Zelda’s ear, “I'm the Mother of Demons, the Dawn of Doom, Satan's mistress. I'm Lilith, dear girl.”

“Lilith?!” Zelda breathed.

“Yes. First wife to Adam, saved from despair by a fallen angel. I call myself Madam Satan in his honor,” said Lilith, but as she whispered the word “his,” she reached out to brush a sweaty lock of hair out of Zelda’s face.

“I… I’m sorry. If I had known you were going to… visit… I would’ve prepared a feast for you,” said Zelda, her mouth going dry as Lilith’s touch lingered, playing with the end of one of her curls.

“ _You_ are my feast,” said Lilith, her eyes dropping to Zelda’s lips. “If you weren’t ill, I would ravage you right here in this bed. It’s been far too long since a Child of Night has showed such devotion to me.”

Lilith cupped Zelda’s face in her hand, her gentle touch cold against Zelda’s feverish skin. Leaning forward, Lilith pressed a kiss against Zelda’s forehead, magic spreading out from the point of connection in the manner of an arcane blessing.

“Be well,” said Lilith, pulling away. “Until we meet again.”

With that, the woman disappeared, leaving no evidence that she’d ever been there, except for the faint hum of a haunting tune. Zelda tried to locate where the sound was coming from, but it seemed to be laced with magic, as it slowly but surely lulled her back into a deep sleep.

* * *

Hilda awoke at dawn, as she always did, as chipper and eager to greet the day as ever. She was surprised to see her sister already awake, brushing her hair at the vanity table.

“Are you feeling better today, love?” said Hilda, coming to stand behind her sister with a relieved smile.

Zelda’s eyes were unreadable as they met hers in the reflection of the mirror. “Yes, sister.”

“What did the trick, d’you think?” said Hilda, placing a hand on her sister’s shoulder.

Zelda covered the hand with her own. “Old magic.”

Hilda tilted her head, confused. “I’m not sure I understand, Zelds.”

Zelda turned around in her chair, so they could look at each other properly.

“I had the strangest dream last night,” said Zelda, her eyes far away.

Hilda’s brow furrowed. “I gave you a strong sleeping draft. You should’ve slept like the dead.”

Zelda hummed, turning back to the mirror. “Thank you, Hildie. It was marvelous.”

Hilda nodded, though she was quite certain there was much her sister had left unspoken. Accepting that there were some things they would never understand about each other, no matter how old they got, Hilda set to work making her bed. Every so often, she would look up to check on Zelda, who was still absent-mindedly brushing her hair, humming a tune like a besotted school girl.

“I don’t recognize that one. Found a new song for your choir, eh, Zelds?” said Hilda, moving on to make Zelda’s bed, since her sister seemed far too distracted to care about tidiness.

“Hmmm?” said Zelda, ceasing her humming. “Oh. It’s just a spinning song.”

Hilda paused as she fluffed Zelda’s pillows. “A _spinning_ song? You don’t weave. At least, not since you broke great-granny’s spinning wheel. She made you cover the spindle in poison and then prick your finger. Woke up in the Cain Pit thirty minutes later with worms in your mouth.”

“Yes, well,” said Zelda, putting down her brush, “as fond a memory as that is, I heard the song… in my dreams.”

Hilda went back to fluffing the pillows. “Are you certain you weren’t visited by a sleep demon? Or maybe you had a fever dream?”

Rather than respond to that entirely logical explanation, Zelda began to sing.

_Hullamackadoo, hooravahee_

_Hoorovahinda, hoorovahinda,_

Relishing the fact that her throat and voice had been returned to full health, she wove the melody without having to think even a moment about the song itself. It was as if by some darkly divine miracle the music lifted out of her, the proper words and notes filling the room despite Zelda never having sung the song before.

_Hullamackadoo, hooravahee,_

_O dicko-o-deck-o-dandy_

Looking to Hilda, she saw a serene smile on her sister’s face, as if the song had lulled her into a peaceful daydream. She got up from the vanity to take Hilda’s hands into her own.

“Hilda?”

Hilda blinked a few times, the spell receding from her eyes. “Yes?”

“I didn’t mean to… distract you. Would you like me to put on a pot of coffee?”

Hilda looked surprised to hear her sister offer to do a nice thing for her. “That sounds lovely, Zelds.”

“With cream and sugar?” Zelda said knowingly, wanting to show Hilda, through the smallest way possible, how grateful she was for her sister’s care.

“I’ll put the sugar in,” said Hilda, shaking her head.

“You don’t trust me to get it right?” said Zelda as she headed towards the door.

“It’s not a matter of trust—it’s a matter of _taste_ ,” said Hilda.

Just as she was putting the last pillow on the bed, a spell whizzed past her, knocking all the pillows to the floor.

_“Zelds!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Just want to note that Lilith's comments on the accuracy of the Talmud are her own beliefs, not mine. Also, the inclusion of the song was inspired by a video Gavin Leatherwood posted of Michelle Gomez singing a traditional Scottish spinning song.
> 
> Here's a link to [ the video ](https://little-arsonist.tumblr.com/post/190564801007/preserving-for-the-ages)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment if you have a moment to spare to share your thoughts with me. *Definitely* leave a comment if you noticed the Missy Easter egg ;D


End file.
